The older I get the earlier I wake up.
Who knew that morning was so much kinder than evening.
Sleep has become an adversary that fights me every night, its fists balled up tight with a sizeable chip on its shoulder.
But at daybreak, no matter how little sleep I’m able to cobble together, the dawn enthusiastically calls me to greet the new day with wonder.
Our trip to the cottage was exciting, if that is anacceptable word for “terrifying,” constantly focused on making sure we were on the right side of the narrow Irish roads.
Real talk, exciting was my word, the wife used other expressions that were quite colorful for her, showing me a surprisingly different side to her descriptive vocabulary.
Once we arrived at our cottage and the upsetting travel stress bled off, we found it to be quite beautiful, and while we were fatigued we were grateful for the privilege to travel here.
Sleep has always come easy to the wife, anytime and anywhere. It’s a wonderful gift that I’m grateful our children inherited.
So, in the wee hours of the glorious new day, while she lies toasty warm and snuggled deep under the luxurious duvet, I slipped out of bed and headed out to find the sea.
I can’t explain it, but the sea has called to me since I wasa kid.
Not to hoist a sail and go for adventure or to cast out the nets and fish for my dinner, but to just to sit and behold its ancient beauty.
It was just getting light enough to pick my way down the dirt path to where I figured there might be a clearing that overlooks the sea, carved out for folks like me to take in the spectacular view.
Deep green moor-grass, drooping low with the heavy morning dew covered all but the middle of the worn dirt path making me keep my eyes trained down, slowly shuffling my way along the trail hoping to stay on course.
As I arrived at the clearing, the path widened and the tree line thinned allowing the ocean to come fully into view. My trousers are soaked below the knees and I’m glad I wore my waterproof boots and thick wool socks.
The ocean was vast and silent, the moon still glowing, it’s brilliant blue, white light reflecting off the countless wavetops moving slowly across my vision.
The beautiful moon still owned the night, telling the sun it wasn’t quite finished with its shift yet.
Compared to the immense expanse of the sea, the single wooden plank bench in the middle of the clearing looked small, uncomfortable, and was bowed in the middle like an old sway backed horse put out to pasture.
But once I settled myself down, shook out my damp trouser legs to shed some of the morning dew, and took in that extraordinary view, I can see why this plain bench has stood the test of time.
Seated here, there is nothing to distract me from the beauty of this place.
The sun is turning the cloud filled horizon into a beautiful deep red orange painting that would make William Turner feel like an apprentice.
The moon begrudgingly begins to fade, admitting yet another defeat.
Breathing deeply, I close my eyes to make my brain be as still as my body, with the hope of saving this moment in my memory.
It’s something that I find myself doing a lot, closing my eyes, so I can focus on being and staying in the moment because my mind wanders so easily.
The sound of the shore waking up to the dawn fills my ears, sea gulls loudly caw as they soar low on the wind looking for breakfast, land birds expertly hidden in the dense high grass, calling out to each other to plan their day, and the dark blue black tide rising and crashing into the craigie shore below.
I’m not entirely sure where I went, but wherever it was, I like it there; the sounds, the smells, the old bench and wet trouser legs all combined to create a special kind of nirvana that behind my closed eyes and settled spirit gave me a wonderful peace.
As the sun cleared the horizon and got to its days’ work, I could feel the chill morning air being replaced with an increasing warmth on my face.
The darkness that filled my eyelids slowly changing to hues of warm reds and oranges, and I adjusted my cap a little lower for shade.
It was then that just for a moment, the sun was blocked and then back in full, and I felt the weight of my wife settle in beside me, finding a comfy place on the upward slope of the rough bench to my left.
The smell of her Chai Tea mingled with the salt air, and she made that sound she always makes when taking the first sip, testing it to see if it’s still too hot to drink.
Then she went still, the view speaking to her as it was to me.
It occurred to me that the warmth from the sun might be half as warm now because the two of us are sharing it.
But that’s not the way it works with her.
She always adds, never subtracts.
Now the droopy moor grass, the soaring gulls, the bickering land birds, the ocean tide crashing into the ancient rocks on the shore, all feel settled and complete.
As do I.
Every time she sits beside me.
